


Weißes Fleisch Erregt Mich So

by dahhhmer



Category: Columbine - Fandom, Historical Criminals RPF, True Crime - Fandom
Genre: Drinking, Dry Humping, Dubious Consent, M/M, Masturbation, Mild Somnophilia, Rape Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:54:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26919931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dahhhmer/pseuds/dahhhmer
Summary: When Eric puts something on the TV Dylan's never seen before, he doesn't know what he's expecting. Horror, probably, given the title screen —I Spit On Your Grave.
Relationships: Eric Harris/Dylan Klebold
Comments: 5
Kudos: 47





	Weißes Fleisch Erregt Mich So

**Author's Note:**

> I do not control the hyperfixations. Do not look at me. Sort of straddles the line between mature & explicit, IMO, but whatever.
> 
> Titled after Weisses Fleisch by Rammstein and translates roughly to _white flesh excites me so_. Unbetaed. Sorry, mom.

Sometimes, when Eric is drunk, he'll talk about sex.

Dylan is a little awkward about it, but he doesn't mind, really; sometimes, after a drink or two, he'll even contribute to the discussion with a fantasy or two of his own. Nothing so brutal as Eric's fantasies, no, but Dylan likes the idea of bondage. The idea of making a girl just a little afraid of him, and all the more aroused by her own fear.

Eric, though. Rape and gore get him going more than anything else.

When Eric puts something on the TV Dylan's never seen before, he doesn't know what he's expecting. Horror, probably, given the title screen — _I Spit On Your Grave_. An older movie, probably pretty low-budget, he determines quickly. Dylan is always game if Eric is, though, and he doesn't ask. He settles on one edge of the couch with his leg extended across the middle cushion, and Eric sits at the other end. Together, both boys focus on the TV while passing Eric's flask back and forth. Dylan drinks less than usual; he can't be sure, but surprisingly, he's pretty sure Eric drinks more than him.

Dylan starts to realize what type of movie they're watching around the 20 minute mark, and his suspicions are confirmed a few minutes later. He glances to Eric, who's smirking at the screen and outright laughs as the woman onscreen is pushed into the grass by her attackers. It's graphic, and Dylan's not — he's not uncomfortable, exactly, but he's also definitely not as into it as Eric is.

"Looks like fun, huh, V?" Eric says, shifting closer and leaning across Dylan to get at the flask in his far hand.

Dylan holds the flask out of his reach, eyeing him dubiously. "You're pretty drunk, Reb. Maybe you should slow down."

Eric snorts. "Fuck, no. Jesus, V, gimme that. And stop avoiding the question."

There's a brief struggle for the flask, but it's mostly for play. Eric ends up sprawled over Dylan's leg, though, warm and heavy and flushed. He trains his eyes on the TV screen as he downs the last dredges of tequila from the container, then tosses it aside.

Eric doesn't move out of Dylan's space. Dylan shifts a little, hoping Eric will get the hint, but he remains. Dylan suppresses a sigh. Well, whatever, then.

"V?"

"Hm?" Dylan glances over again, and this time his eyes meet Eric's for a brief moment before the older boy is looking back at the screen.

Eric plays off his embarrassment at being caught staring and continues, "I'd fuckin' love to do that to a girl. We could take turns holding her down and just..." He grins, sharklike, and Dylan has to look away again. Dylan swallows dryly, hearing his throat click, and reaches up to run a hand through his hair just for something to do. He doesn't say anything.

If Eric notices Dylan's discomfort, he says nothing of it. He just continues to describe the hypothetical assault, a dreamlike quality and a touch of a slur to his voice. "You seen someone do DP before? _Man,_ I bet the kinda girls in our school don't put out much. Fuck knows I've tried." Eric laughs. "Imagine how _tight_ it'd be..."

Dylan's cock is at half-mast in spite of himself. He tries to ignore it, but then — well. Then Eric shifts his weight, and his hips cant down in an unmistakable, intentional grind against Dylan's thigh. Dylan tenses, and Eric's not so wasted that he doesn't notice. One of Eric's hands move to wrap around Dylan's wrist, pinning it back against the arm of the couch. Dylan still doesn't say anything.

"Shut up," Eric says anyway, finally tilting forward the rest of the way so his chest is pressed along Dylan's side. He bares his teeth against Dylan's neck like a threat. Dylan doesn't move, doesn't say anything, though he's sure he could easily throw Eric off of him.

On the TV screen, the woman is screaming and sobbing. Eric glances over at it, thoughtful.

"I'm afraid if I ever got with a girl, I'd be too rough. Freak her out," Eric admits. Dylan feels his lips move against Dylan's neck. "Sometimes I just want to fucking... _Hurt_ them, you know? Everyone, I mean, but... Girls. Man, I don't know." Eric starts a slow grind down against Dylan's thigh again. Dylan has no idea how to feel about it; while he tries to decide, he allows it, still and admittedly rather confused beneath Eric's warm weight.

"That's why it'd be easier to just fucking force them. Shove my cock down their throat so they can't scream. Or maybe, uh, maybe we could do it together." Eric's panting, now, his free hand gripping tightly at the edge of the couch cushion. "You stuff your dick in her mouth to keep her quiet and I'll fuck her. Why not, right?"

Eric thrusts against him particularly hard, and a little grunt escapes his lips. Slowly, as if afraid to scare him off, Dylan raises a hand and presses it into the center of Eric's lower back. Pushes down the next time Eric grinds against him, adding a little pressure. Eric hisses, releasing the couch in favor of gripping the front of Dylan's shirt tightly. He seems to give up on words, then, instead biting into the side of Dylan's neck. Dylan yelps, startled, but after a moment, he tilts his head to give Eric a little more space. The mark Eric sucks there is sloppy and it hurts more than it feels good, but Dylan lets him be, anyway. The pace of Eric's thrusting down against him gets faster, then erratic, and Dylan feels the vibration against his skin as Eric groans around his mouthful of Dylan's flesh. Moments later, warm wetness seeps through Eric's jeans and threatens to soak into Dylan's. Eric goes still.

"... Reb?" Dylan says after a moment. The assault on the screen goes on; Dylan's entirely hard, now, pressing up against the metal teeth of his zipper. Eric says nothing, just shifts on top of him ever so slightly. The hand still around Dylan's wrist has gone slack.

"Reb," Dylan repeats. He rolls his eyes at the silence. "Eric, come on, you fuckin'..." Dylan trails off, glancing down into his own lap then back up to the TV.

Well. If Eric is passed out, it doesn't matter, right?

Dylan moves his hand from Eric's back and presses against the front of his jeans. His breath catches at the pressure, eyes fluttering briefly shut. He listens to Eric's breathing for a moment, but it's slow and steady still. Fucker really passed out on top of him. He undoes his zipper and fly but doesn't push his pants down at all, just sort of — strokes himself through his boxers, too hyper aware of the chance that Eric will wake up and catch him.

Dylan tells himself he's getting off on the long, _long_ rape scene playing on the TV, but he knows what's really doing it for him. The fantasies Eric had regaled him with, the weight of Eric still draped over him, the aborted grunts and harsh breathing as Eric had ground on his thigh and bit into his neck — fuck, the bite itself, the harsh red mark Dylan is sure he'll have in the morning —

Dylan comes as quietly as he can, turning his head against Eric's in a panic when he realizes he can't lift his free hand to cover his mouth. He moans quietly against Eric's hair, and he doesn't even really have time to enjoy his orgasm before his eyes fly open, every inch of his body tensing in fear. Did he wake Eric up? He's still and quiet, catching his breath and listening to Eric's breathing, still. After a few seconds, he relaxes. Bastard is still out like a light.

With some difficulty, given he's only got one hand free, Dylan does his jeans back up. When Eric wakes up later, all he does is stumble out of his soiled jeans into a pair of clean boxers — Dylan looks away politely — and throw himself into bed with a grunt. Dylan changes, too, glad he actually had the foresight to bring a change of clothes with him this time. He pauses in front of the TV on his way back to the couch, watching the tail end of a rape scene for a few seconds. Then he switches it off.

As Dylan settles back onto the couch, he hears Eric mumble something across the room. "Hm?" Dylan asks.

Eric grumbles. Dylan hears the shuffle of blankets. "Said I knew you were into it," he repeats, and Dylan freezes.

Did he... Had he been...?

"Night, V," Eric says, and only moments later Dylan hears a quiet, snuffling snore.

_Fuck._

He'd forgotten Eric snores.


End file.
